


To The Stars

by SugarCrystal



Category: Red Dwarf, Titanic (1997)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-06-22 09:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15578958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarCrystal/pseuds/SugarCrystal
Summary: Arnold, abused youngest son of the wealthy, snobbish Rimmer family meets Dave Lister, space bum and aspiring musician, aboard the luxury space liner,Red Dwarf.Alias, the Titanic-based AU that I foolishly mentioned and several people then insisted should actually be written.





	1. Chapter 1

Dave Lister was on Mimas, in a dive bar, in a poker game. He gazed over the grubby table at the two sleazy-looking Indian guys who had just raised his bet and puffed at his cigarette, considering.  
He had to stay in this game, amongst the pile of cash on the table were two tickets that could finally get him off of this smegging moon. Tickets for the Red Star Line's flagship liner _Red Dwarf_ bound for Earth, only third class, of course, but that was all anyone at this table was going to be able to afford. Lister didn't care about that, it was a way out of here after months of sleeping in doorways or parks or luggage lockers, months of busking in alleys and playing in bars for handfuls of cash, or else stealing taxis and using them to pick up fares, months of being pickpocketed and mugged and getting into fights. A third class cabin on a passenger ship would be luxury by comparison. One of the Indians seemed to think so too, he'd been reluctant to put the tickets up and they'd had a heated debate in Hindi before deciding.  
By Lister's reckoning, it would take him at least two more years to save up the money to buy a ticket home and that was only _if_ he didn't get robbed again, something which actually seemed to happen at least once a week. The chance to _win_ tickets was one that was unlikely to ever come around again, this could be his one and only chance and he had three Kings in his Hand, he _had_ to stay in this game.  
Trouble was, he was out of cash and so was Petersen. The game was down to the two Indians and a drunken Scotsman, who seemed to have stayed in purely on luck.

"So, you still in?" one of the Indians demanded.

There was only one thing Lister had left of any value, the one thing that had arrived with him on this godforsaken moon in the first place other than the clothes he stood up in, and the one thing he'd guarded with his life ever since. It was currently propped up next to his chair.

"Okay, guys." He took a deep breath and stubbed his cigarette out on the table. "I'll bet me guitar."

The Indian scowled at him, the only possible use he had for a guitar was the amount of money he could sell it for. "Is it worth anything?"

"Worth anything?" Lister echoed. "It's a genuine Les Paul, worth hundreds. More than hundreds. A couple of grand, at least. Look...," He picked up the guitar and handed it over for inspection. "Check out the quality, man." He tapped the wood with his knuckles. "Check out the sound...," He plucked a few strings, causing everyone at the table to wince.

The second Indian shrugged. "Seems good quality."

The Scotsman peered at it through his alcoholic haze. "My brother had one of those," he remarked to the room in general. "Cost three grand. Lost it in a fire. Shame."

"So...?" Lister prompted.

The Indian nodded. "Agreed."

"Okay." Lister took a slug of beer to steady his nerves and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his leather jacket. Then he discarded the other two cards in his Hand and took two fresh ones. "Ready, Petersen?"

The Dane shrugged, more interested in his beer now that he was out of the game. "Either you get us tickets out of here or you lose your guitar. Either way, I win."

"Thanks for the support, man," Lister scowled. He turned his cards over. The ten of hearts and ten of diamonds. That made three Kings and two tens. He looked at the Indian.

"Flush," said the Indian smugly, laying down a three, five, six, eight and Jack of spades.

"Smeg!" muttered the Scotsman and dropped his own cards despondently.

Lister smirked triumphantly. "Full House!" he crowed, slapping his Hand down.

"Yesssss!" bawled Petersen and grabbed him in a delighted hug, slopping beer over them both. 

"Congratulations," the Indian ground out between his teeth.

Lister chugged the remainder of his beer and stood up. "Well, nice knowing you, guys." He scooped up his winnings, stuffed it all into his various pockets and slung his guitar around his back. "Let's go, we've got a shuttle to catch," he said to Petersen.

The Indian took a sour slug of his beer as he regarded Lister's departing back. He had lost his chance to get off this damn moon but he could at least take a vindictive pleasure in the fact that those stupid Europeans weren't going to have time to get the tickets transferred to their own names before the shuttle left. He'd effectively given them worthless pieces of paper.

****

"Rajesh Singh and Dev Patel." The ticket official read the names on the tickets and regarded the beaming ticket holders with suspicion. "Neither of you look Indian."

"That doesn't mean we can't have Indian names," said Lister innocently.

"And those are the names on your passports, are they, Sir? May I see your identification?"

Petersen waved his hand in front of the man's face. "You don't need to see our identification."

"Sir, if I had a dollarpound for every time I've heard that joke, I would not be doing this job. Now if the names on these tickets don't match the names on your passports, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the queue, other people are waiting."

"Look, man," Lister tried to explain. "We won these tickets fair and square, we'd get the names on 'em changed but there isn't time."

"Well, I'm sorry, Sir, but that really isn't my problem."

Lister flicked through the wad of cash he'd collected from the poker table. "What's it worth to look the other way, eh?" he suggested.

"It's more than my job's worth to take bribes, Sir. Now please leave the queue."

Lister stuffed the money back in his pocket. "Come on, man, it's hopeless," he sighed dramatically. "Smegging Indians sold us up the Swanee." He grabbed Petersen's arm and tugged him away from the queue, pointedly heading towards the door marked 'Exit'.

It wasn't like Lister to give up so easily, he just wanted the man to think that he had, Petersen realised. He must have a plan.

"Okay," he said, once they were out of the official's sight and earshot. "You've got an idea, haven't you?" 

"Yeah," Lister said quietly. "Look at this place, man, look how cheaply run it is, there isn't even any security guards. I bet we can sneak past when the bloke's not looking, we just need to create a diversion."

"Oooh, create a diversion!" Petersen cackled, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "I love creating diversions!"

"Good," Lister grinned. "Come on." He headed around a corner into an empty waiting area, Petersen right behind him, and looked around for something flammable. He found a magazine on a table and dug about in his pocket for his lighter.

Petersen watched with interest as Lister climbed onto a chair, lit the magazine on fire and waved it around in front of the smoke detector. 

"Heads up, man," he warned as the smoke alarm burst into life, along with the sprinkler system.

Petersen yelled and covered his head with his plastic carrier bag as a makeshift umbrella.

"Calm down, everyone!" came the voice of the ticket official over the various yells and screams from the front desk. "It's probably just a bug, please evacuate to the car park while we get it sorted!"

"Now!" Lister hissed at Petersen and scurried through the soaked and panicking crowds towards the now unmanned check-in desk, keeping his head down.  
They shot past the check-in point unnoticed and unchallenged and ran down the deserted boarding corridor to the waiting shuttle.  
"Okay," Lister breathed as they entered the shuttle door. "Now we just need to hide until take off. Once this thing's in the air we can come out." He removed his hat and brushed water droplets from it.

"Hide where?" Petersen wanted to know.

"Toilets," Lister stated as the obvious choice.

The toilet cubicle was a little small for two men, one burdened with a guitar, and had an unpleasant smell but Lister had crammed himself into far worse before and it was only temporary. Before long, they heard passengers arriving and the shuttle filling up.

"This is your captain speaking, we are ready for takeoff, please fasten your seatbelts and keep your seats and trays in the upright position until further notice. This is the Red Star Line shuttle flight 221, bound for the liner _Red Dwarf_. Refreshments are available on this service," came an American accent over the tannoy.

Lister braced himself against the cubicle wall as the shuttle began take off and the air pressure began to drop, causing a popping in his ears.

"Shuttle flight 221 is now in orbit. You may now make use of trays and seat recliners, refreshments will be available shortly. Please enjoy your flight."

Lister and Petersen emerged from the cubicle and nonchalantly made their way to their seats, no one paid them any attention.

"Can I get you anything?" asked the smiley trolley attendant as they sat down.

"Two beers, please."

****

Some hours later, with Petersen fast asleep, Lister's attention was caught by something red and solid appearing in the distance from his window.

"And if you look out of the left hand windows of the shuttle, you can see _Red Dwarf_ just coming into view now," announced the tannoy.

Lister's stomach tightened. This was it, his way back to Earth. He kept his eyes fixed on the red ship as it slowly came into view, getting larger and larger as the shuttle got closer. Before long it was filling the entire view of the shuttle's left side, and they still weren't all that close to it. It must be enormous, several miles long, at least. He nudged Petersen, who awoke with a start.

"What is it?"

Lister silently nodded at the window and the red monstrosity outside. "Nearly there, man."

"Smeg, it's huge!" Petersen breathed.

"Started out as a mining ship, I think," Lister remembered from an advert for the Red Star Line. "Company went bust and someone else bought the ship and turned it into a passenger liner. Good thing really," he added quietly. "If it's that big, we should be able to lose ourselves on it fairly easily."

"Eh?" said Petersen baffled and Lister sighed. Petersen had never been very bright and Lister doubted he understood the reality of their ticket situation, he'd have to have a serious talk with him once they were aboard.

The shuttle continued its journey, _Red Dwarf_ slowly beginning to look more like an entirely red city than a ship as more and more of it came into focus, and then more like a bright red factory as things that seemed to be chimneys began to drift past the windows.

The captain's voice came onto the tannoy again. "Shuttle flight 221 is coming in to land, please fasten your seatbelts and return all seats and trays to the upright position. Estimated docking in ten minutes."

Lister fastened his seatbelt with butterflies in his stomach.

****

The landing bay was bustling with what had to be well over a hundred people and Lister breathed a sigh of relief, if the landing bay alone was this big and this busy, the ship really was large enough for a couple of space bums who weren't, strictly speaking, supposed to be here to completely lose themselves in the crowds. They couldn't risk losing each other though, he kept a firm grip on Petersen's arm as he manoeuvred their way through the throngs, following the signs that pointed to 'Third Class' in both English and Esperanto.

It seemed to be mostly grey, Lister noted, very industrial looking. Apparently the Red Star Line hadn't bothered to redecorate third class too much from the ship's old mining days.

Baggage Claim was heaving with passengers and the amount of angry voices sounded as though several people were getting fed up with waiting for their luggage. Fortunately, Lister had nothing to claim. He'd arrived on Mimas blackout drunk after a pub crawl bender on Earth with little more than his guitar. It had been easy enough to acquire a few essentials like toothbrushes, razors, deodorant, changes of socks and t-shirts but he'd soon discovered it was easier to wear all the clothes he owned at once and carry the other items in his many pockets rather than risk keeping everything in a bag which could easily be stolen. It was hard enough keeping a constant eye on his guitar without having to keep a constant eye on a rucksack too.  
Petersen, with no guitar to worry about, kept his few worldly possessions in a carrier bag which he switched out for a fresh one whenever it got too tatty.

Lister paused to check the room number on their tickets and steered Petersen down the relevant corridor. Before long they arrived in front of their door and Lister stopped dead. Keys, he realised. He'd have to get the keys to their room and that would involve showing someone his ticket. Smeg.

"Wait here," he told Petersen. "Don't wander off, I've got to go and get the keys."

Much to Lister's relief, the key claim desk was as busy as everywhere else and the attendants had no time to pay any real attention to anyone, he flashed his ticket, pointing to the room number whilst keeping one finger over the name and two key cards were handed over without comment.

Once they were safely inside the bunkroom with the door closed, Lister allowed himself to relax and take stock of his surroundings. The whole room was painted grey, there were two bunks made out of apertures in the wall with a removable ladder, a stainless steel table and two chairs with hot drink facilities, a small blue sofa under the window, which looked only marginally more comfortable than the chairs, two lockers and a bathroom area with shower, washbasin, and toilet.

Petersen sat on the lower bunk with a happy sigh. "Luxury, man."

Lister nodded in agreement and then sat down at the table and fixed Petersen with his most serious expression, he had to clear things up as soon as possible. "Okay, man," he said. "I need to talk to you. Now listen to me, 'cause this is important. Remember we don't actually have valid tickets. So, technically, we're stowaways, we're gonna have to keep our heads down. Like I said, on a ship this size, it should be easy to get lost in the crowd but don't do anything to draw attention. Are you listening to me?!" he demanded as Petersen kicked off his boots and flung himself on his back. "None of your stupid drunken antics! We can't draw attention to ourselves. The last thing we want is to get smegging arrested."

"Okay, man, I hear you," Petersen insisted. "I'll be good."

"Thank you," Lister sighed. He wandered over to the window and gazed out into space, smiling to himself at the realisation of what had happened. "We made it though, man, didn't we? We got off Mimas!" 

"Yes!" Petersen cheered in celebration, leaping out of the bunk.

A huge grin spread across Lister's face as his worries melted away, at least for now and he jumped triumphantly into Petersen's arms, flinging his arms around his neck in a celebratory hug. "We're going to Fiji!"

"Yes!" Petersen cheered again. He dropped Lister and pointed dramatically out of the window. "I can see Earth already! Very small, of course," he added and Lister laughed happily.

"Come on, man, let's go and get something to eat. I'm starving."

They found a cafe of the greasy spoon variety and ordered coffee and two huge fry-ups. It was a long time since Lister had had a fried breakfast, or a decent meal at all. The large plate of spicy sausages, crispy bacon and nicely runny eggs with a generous amount of mushrooms and tomatoes, topped off with thick slices of hot buttered toast was a welcome sight.

"What are you reading, man?" Petersen wanted to know as he tucked in.

"Flight itinerary," Lister answered through a mouthful of sausages. He swallowed and tried again. "There's a few more stops before we get to Earth. Next stop after Saturn is Jupiter - obviously - should be arriving there in five weeks. Picking up passengers from Ganymede, Callisto, and Io."


	2. Chapter 2

Arnold Rimmer was on Io, in his parents' garden, in the summer house. The summer house was his sanctuary, it wasn't generally used except when the family had visitors, so it was a useful place to go if you wanted to be alone.  
The garden was peaceful. Everywhere was peaceful on Io, it had never been properly terraformed and instead everything existed inside a succession of glass domes. You couldn't see the domes when you were inside one of them, they were far too big, but it was still an artificial environment with a perfectly controlled climate and very little in the way of wildlife, all life had to be imported from Earth, so the planners had total control over what animals existed on Io, right down to the insects. Bees, butterflies and dragonflies all existed; wasps, flies and spiders did not, Io was intended to be pretty.  
It would have been a lovely place, if not for the people. Most of the people on Io held outdated and very rigid views and disliked non-conformity. Rimmer had spent his life trying to conform, to be a perfect Ioian boy with a successful career and an eventual family but he was useless at anything academic, useless at anything physical and had few social skills. His three brothers were in the Space Corps, the two eldest were officers and Howard was on his way to becoming one. Arnold had been rejected by the academy, so he'd tried cadet school as a compensation and failed it, he'd briefly managed to get at in at an entry level job of third technician but been sacked for gross incompetence. Hopefully something else would show up in the fullness of time but, for now, he was stuck living in his parent's house surviving on the small amount of money they allowed him.

The fountain tinkled away gently, bees buzzed in the lavender, birds sung in the trees and butterflies fluttered around the buddleias. Watching the butterflies, Rimmer had the urge to draw them.  
The summerhouse seating was hollow, the cushions lifted up to expose an empty wooden area beneath intended for storage but it wasn't really used either so Rimmer had found it to be a very useful place to hide things he'd prefer his family not to know about.  
What he was hiding now was his sketchbook. It wasn't just a writing pad, it was more of a portfolio with red leather binding edged with gold, and a pocket to hold pencils. It had cost him quite a large amount of his small monthly allowance, as had the pencils and even the paper. No point in buying cheap paper, after all. He hoped to try painting in watercolours too at some point, he would have to buy the paints and a selection of brushes and maybe an easel, good thing he had a decent hiding place for all that equipment.  
No one else knew anything about it, he didn't want them to know. His mother would probably be pleased that he'd found a hobby which kept him quiet and out of her hair but his father would consider drawing to be too unmanly for his sons, even the disappointing one, and his brothers would see it as something else to laugh at him over.  
He selected a fresh piece of paper and began a rough sketch of the buddleia bush and its resident butterflies.

He did wonder if there was any possibility he might be able to do this professionally. There were people who made a living as artists, weren't there? It was possible to sell sketches and paintings if anyone liked them enough to buy them, some artists even got commissions. It would be nice to be able to make his own living, even if it wasn't in the way his father would have wanted.  
He gave himself a reality check. You could only do that if you had any talent. And he didn't, did he? Of course, he didn't. Just because he enjoyed drawing didn't mean he was actually any _good_ at it. Just because _he_ liked his drawings, didn't mean anyone else would. How could he possibly be good at art when he wasn't good at anything? He'd been told often enough that he was useless at everything. Best to just keep it as a private hobby.  
He had several sketches now, in various stages of completion, mostly landscapes and still life studies, a few drawings of the fish in the family aquarium, plus one or two self-portraits with his prominent nostrils and wiry hair toned down.  
What he particularly wanted was the chance to draw somebody else, preferably full figure, but he had no idea where he could possibly find a suitable model.

"Arnold!" came the shrill voice of his mother.

Rimmer sighed and tucked the sketchpad back into its hiding place. "Coming, Mother!" He left quickly before she caught up to him, he didn't want anyone to find out he used the summerhouse as a private retreat, and headed across the lawn, meeting her halfway.

"What were you doing out here?" she demanded.

"Nothing, Mother."

"As usual," she sniffed. "Get indoors, dinner's almost ready."

Rimmer freshened up and changed his shirt, so his parents would have nothing to complain about, before joining them at the table. He said nothing as the maid poured drinks and ladled steaming French onion soup into bowls.

"I received a letter this morning," his mother broke the silence, eventually. "From Frank."

"What did he say?" his father grunted, his attention mostly on his soup.

"He's getting married. Not until November but he wants us to meet her."

"What's her name?"

"Janine. She's French, apparently. And a professional model." His mother sniffed. "I would have preferred him to marry something sensible like a nurse or a teacher, but I suppose a model is respectable enough."

Rimmer privately considered that that rather depended on the model in question but kept his mouth shut. He also briefly wondered if she was the sort of model who would be happy to pose for an amateur sketch artist but quickly dismissed that idea. Even if she was, there was no way he'd have the chance to draw her without anybody else finding out.

"Where's he marrying her? Earth?"

"Yes, in France. How long does it take to get to Earth?"

"About four months," Rimmer put in.

His mother ignored him. "About four months, I think. So if we book tickets on the first available liner, we can be there by early October, in plenty of time for the wedding. It'll mean missing summer but we can have Christmas on Earth, leave again in January and be back home in time for next summer."

Rimmer had always found it somewhat ridiculous that all of Io's important social activities took place during the months officially designated as "summer" even though Io was climate controlled and didn't have seasons. Just another form of traditionalism.

The maid came back to collect the empty soup bowls and spoons and dish up the main course. It consisted of all his least favourite foods again, he sometimes wondered if his parents did that on purpose, but, as always, he said nothing, just kept his head down and ate quietly.  
Still, it appeared that, depending on whether or not he was wanted at this wedding, he was facing either a trip on a liner to Earth or up to a year without his parents, neither of which sounded like a bad thing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make this chapter longer, given the length of Chapter One, but there just wasn't enough stuff to put in this part and eventually I realised it had been too long since the last update so I should just give up and post what I had.

"Finished?" asked the waitress kindly. 

"Yeah, thanks, it was delicious," Lister smiled.

"Would you like anything else or should I just get you the bill?"

Lister froze. Bill? He'd thought meals were free, included in the ticket price. If he'd known he'd had to _pay_ , he wouldn't have have ordered two giant breakfasts or a second round of coffee.  
"How much did we just spend?" he asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

The waitress totted up. "Two full English breakfasts, plus four coffees between you. Twenty five dollarpounds."

"Smeg!"

"Yes, it is a bit pricey," the waitress agreed blithely, having no idea of his financial situation.

Lister handed over two tens and a five from his stash and couldn't help feeling a little guilty about not giving her a tip even though he couldn't really afford it.  
Twenty five for one meal? And it would be almost six months before the ship reached Earth, the money wasn't going to last.

He counted the rest of it on the way back to the bunkroom, just over two thousand left. He'd thought that was a handsome sum of ready cash but, as all two people had to live on for the duration of six months, it didn't seem quite so much. "Okay, man," he said quietly. "We can't eat like that again."

Petersen looked crestfallen.

"I think it's gonna have to be sandwiches for the rest of the trip. And no drinks, we can drink tap water, that won't cost anything."

"What about beer?" asked Petersen in alarm. "I can still have beer, right?" 

"No! No beer."

"Come on! I can't go without beer for six months," Petersen protested.

"You can go without beer for six months or you can go without food for six months," Lister muttered grimly. "We can't afford both." He unlocked the bunkroom door and dropped despondently onto the sofa.

Petersen stuffed his hands in his pockets and fixed Lister with an accusing stare. "So let me get this straight, I can't do anything that might get us noticed, I can't do anything that costs money, I can't have any beer, and we can't have anything decent to eat? For almost six months. Six smegging months! Is this a cruise liner or a prison?"

"Come on, man, it's not my fault," Lister protested. "I could have got us legit tickets _and_ more spending money if we'd had time. There _wasn't_ time, the shuttle was about to leave. What was I meant to do? Anyway," he tried to placate him, "there's things to do on this ship that don't cost anything." He waved the leaflet around temptingly. "They've got an AR suite, look..., oh no, that does charge money. Well, there's all sorts of things that don't; bowling, snooker, discos, loads of things. Plus, there's the chance to meet new people, if you want to go chatting up girls and trying to get laid, I'm sure you can do that too."  
In an attempt to lighten the mood, he picked up his guitar and played a few loud notes. Maybe he could use the time to Earth to compose a song or two, it was better than spending almost six months doing nothing.

Petersen wailed dramatically and made a dive for the bottom bunk, burying his head under the pillow. "Not that smegging guitar again!"

Lister ignored him. "I'm going to Fiji...," he tried as an opening line of a possible song and then got stuck. Did anything rhyme with Fiji? He plucked a few tuneless notes whilst he considered. Maybe some lines about lying in the sun, drinking fruit juice.

"You said we can't do anything that'll attract attention," Petersen pointed out from under his pillow. "Don't get us arrested for noise pollution."

"Philistine," Lister grumbled and put the guitar aside again. 

****

"So, am I invited to this wedding or is it just the two of you?" Rimmer finally asked over the dessert course. 

His father snorted. "Of course you're not staying here on your own. The man who couldn't repair a simple driveplate without nearly blowing up his ship? We're not leaving you alone for a year to come back to no house left." He scowled at his chocolate pudding as though it had personally offended him and stabbed it hard with his spoon. Rimmer wondered if his father was pretending the pudding was his head. 

He fell silent again and concentrated on his own dessert, there was no point in saying anything, he'd never live down the circumstances of the termination of his one and only successful attempt at employment.

"Of course we'll need to get them some sort of wedding present," his mother eventually broke the silence. "Should we take something with us or buy them something when we reach Earth?" No one answered so she pressed on. "And if this girl's marrying into the family, I suppose she ought have at least one of the diamonds as well. What can we give her? Something she can wear at the wedding, I suppose. The blue heart necklace, perhaps? That would seem suitable."

 _Very generous of you, mother_ , Rimmer thought privately. He knew full well that his mother hated that necklace, she thought it was garish and tacky.

****

"So, are we going to go out and find something to do or what?" Petersen asked eventually after staring at the underside of the top bunk for several minutes. 

"Right now, I just want to go to sleep, man," Lister admitted. It was just after midday, ship time, but he hadn't slept for more than twenty hours and he hadn't slept in a proper bed since he'd left Earth. He was tired, even two coffees hadn't really helped, and that bunk looked tempting.

"Good idea," Petersen agreed. He was feeling a bit done in himself and things might look better in the morning

Lister gave his teeth a brush and his face a cursory wash with a damp flannel before stripping off his outer layers of clothes. Both his t-shirts could do with a wash, he noted; so could his jeans, for that matter. To say nothing of his boxers, which were possibly becoming a biological hazard. Fortunately laundry facilities _were_ one of the things included in the price, he have to track them down tomorrow. For now, he tossed his clothes into a pile on the sofa and swung himself up into the top bunk where he stretched himself out luxuriously.  
He looked up at the Red Star Line logo painted on the back wall of his bunk and smiled to himself, there was something reassuring about it. He was going to Earth, he was going to Fiji, he was going to lie on the beach in the sun drinking fresh mango juice. Just under six more months of semi-discomfort and then he'd get to live out his dreams, and things were already more comfortable than they'd been on Mimas. And he was right about meeting new people, there were bound to be plenty of interesting girls on board - and guys, for that matter. That was the bonus of being bisexual, twice as many possible partners.

He waited for Petersen to finish washing and clamber back into the bottom bunk then called, "Lights off!" The bunkroom went dark and Lister snuggled into his reasonably comfortable pillow and duvet for the first decent night's sleep he'd had in ages.

****

Back in his room, Rimmer gazed out of the window, the artificial sun was setting for the evening at the same time it always did, every single day regardless of the time of year, like clockwork. He switched on his bedside lamp and retrieved his engineering book from the drawer. There was a bookmark marking as far as he'd got with this one, about five pages in from the title page. He flicked the book open and attempted to read.  
If he could just pass an entrance exam, he could get back into the Space Corps and at a higher rank this time. Then either his parents would start respecting him or he'd be able to afford to leave them again, hopefully for good.  
The words began to blur together, _tension_ , _pressure_ , _expansion_..., He struggled through to the end of the page and then closed the book and tried to recall what he'd just read. Meaningless words floated around his mind as they'd floated around on the page. He simply didn't understand anything technical, he could just about cope with wiring. It wasn't just engineering either, he'd tried navigation too and was just as hopeless at that.  
_The man who couldn't repair a simple driveplate without nearly blowing up his ship!_ his father's voice echoed in his mind, and he yelled in frustration and threw the book into the corner of the room. Then, after a few seconds, went to retrieve it again, he hated anything being out of place.  
He left it on his pillow while he went to use the bathroom, and took as much time as possible about brushing his teeth, showering, drying his hair and changing into his starched pyjamas in order to put off any further reading. Eventually he climbed into bed, picked up the book and looked at the front cover, then put it away in the drawer and switched the lamp off.


	4. Chapter 4

_Five weeks later_...

Rimmer sipped his morning coffee and tried not to gag on the bitter taste. It was made to his father's taste, not his, and he found it a caustic brew, even with milk, but the only other choice was tea. The tea was his mother's and she complained about him drinking it when he wasn't bringing any money into the house.

There was a large pile of luggage in the hallway, most of which belonged to his mother and included her traveling safe, holding whichever of the diamonds she planned to bring on this trip. Dungo the gardener had made a rare entry into the house in order to fetch the cases and help the taxi driver load them.  
Rimmer had packed methodically, his formal suit for the wedding, plenty of regular clothes, a few pairs of shoes, toiletries and other essentials, a couple of books on engineering and navigation - might as well get some studying done on this trip, he'd decided - and finally, his sketchpad.

He drank as much of the coffee as he could stomach and placed the half full cup back on the tray for the maid to clear away later.

Dungo stuck his head around the door. "All loaded, Sir," he said to Rimmer's father who grunted. "Mornin' there, Mr Arnold," he added cheerfully.

"Good morning, Dungo," Rimmer replied. He liked Dungo.

Dungo disappeared again and his parents headed out to the front door, Rimmer following.  
He squeezed into the back seat of the taxi, next to his mother's safe. She took the seat on the other side of it where there was more room. His father sat in the front next to the driver.  
The taxi pulled away from the house as the servants waved them off. There wasn't a large staff body, just the housekeeper/cook and the maid. Rimmer secretly hoped they'd invite their boyfriends and a number of friends around for an alcohol and cocaine fuelled raging house party during his family's absence, it would serve his parents right. Dungo waved to him from the garden and Rimmer waved back.  
No one spoke at all during the journey, Rimmer gazed absently out of the window. Rows of houses which were all identical to their neighbours. Even the trees were planted by a programmed system so none were a millimetre out of place, kept trimmed to the exact same size and shape, standing in a perfect row like the cream of the military. The uniformity of Io would grate on your nerves if you let it, even for someone like Rimmer who actually liked things to be neat.

The shuttle port was perfect too; brass polished until it was as reflective as a mirror, guards in livery who saluted as you entered, not a fingerprint on the glass of the doors.  
Ioian shuttle ports were situated at the edges of domes as the shuttles needed to take off and land in the open air. It was possible to see the dome when you were this close to the edge of it, a slightly curved glass wall coming down to the ground with ornamental trees and hedges planted at the base, intended to hide any sight of the real Io, the barren desert world outside the domes that the planners tried to pretend didn't exist.

A liveried porter wheeled the luggage away for loading as the family joined the check-in queue. The tickets were checked and stamped and the passengers made their way down the corridor to the waiting shuttle and took their seats.  
The shuttle doors closed, as did the corridor doors, sealing shut before the shuttle detached, cutting off the inhospitable Ionian climate from entering the perfect world within the dome.

"This is your captain speaking, we are ready for takeoff, please fasten your seatbelts and keep your seats and trays in the upright position until further notice. This is the Red Star Line shuttle flight 179, bound for the liner _Red Dwarf_. Refreshments are available on this service," came the tannoy announcement.

His father had brought a newspaper and his mother had brought a novel. Rimmer hadn't bothered to bring anything to read or pass the time, he knew his parents would only criticise his choice. He stared out of the window instead, listening to the hum of the air conditioning and sipped his complimentary wine when it arrived. He let his mind drift, he'd been doing that a lot lately, maybe it was a side effect of trying to be artistic. He found himself visualising the fish swimming around in the family aquarium as he gazed out of the window at the stars, the two images merged and he realised he was picturing fish swimming among the stars, maybe that was something he could turn into a drawing...,

"And if you look out of the right hand windows of the shuttle, you can see _Red Dwarf_ just coming into view now," came the announcement, jolting him awake. He realised he'd dozed off and wondered how much time had passed. Feeling disorientated, he turned his head to watch the windows on the other side of the shuttle as the liner came into view.

Well, it was certainly red, Rimmer agreed, but he wasn't so sure about the "Dwarf" part. It was considerably larger than the vessel he had been stationed on, several miles long at least. That was promising, there would be plenty of opportunities to get away from his parents and there were bound to be places he could sit quietly and draw.  
Before long, there was nothing but red visible outside the shuttle's windows. Endless red paneling dotted with tiny windows and giant red structures like parts of a factory slowly drifting past as if an entire city had been built out of red...,

The tannoy interrupted his musing again. "Shuttle flight 179 is coming in to land, please fasten your seatbelts and return all seats and trays to the upright position. Estimated docking in ten minutes."

****

The landing bay was bustling with passengers and staff, Rimmer's father strode straight through the crowds, following the signs that pointed to 'First Class', pausing only to collect the keys from the check-in desk.

The first class part of the ship was largely white and glossy with soothing lighting and an ambient humming noise in every corridor. Since its mining days, the corridors had also acquired soft carpeting and the occasional potted plant. Rimmer found himself relaxing.  
First class cabins had started life as the officer's quarters. Their room was white and shiny throughout with soft lighting and a fresh clean smell. The large screen on the wall was showing a looped recording of swimming fish, apparently as a screensaver, the beds were equipped with large soft pillows and duvets, there was a fresh floral arrangement on the table and a fridge stocked with complimentary drinks. Their luggage had already been delivered and was piled neatly beside the bunks.

Mrs Rimmer looked around and sniffed. "Well, it's adequate, I suppose."

The screen flicked from fish to a Red Star Line logo and an accompanying voiceover began its welcome spiel.

She gave her son an irritated look as she hung her coat and scarf up. "Well don't just stand there doing nothing. Make yourself useful and unpack my cases, and be careful with my clothes."

"Yes, Mother," Rimmer said without argument. He turned his attention to her cases while she picked out her dressing gown and went to freshen up in the bathroom. 

Of course, his parents had been too cheap to buy an extra ticket and bring the maid along, which meant their son would be doing her job on this trip. Mother had certainly brought a lot of clothes, he began shaking out suits and dresses and sliding them onto hangers to go in the wardrobe.

Eventually she emerged again in her pink fluffy dressing gown and hit the button to call a stewardess before turning her attention to the wardrobe. "Where did you put my green dress?" she demanded irritably. "I want that one for dinner."

Rimmer considered making a snarky comment about it being indigestible, but decided it wasn't worth it. He turned to the still unpacked cases and began looking for it.

"It won't be in that case, that one's for my day dresses," said his mother impatiently. "It'll be in the big one."

Rimmer opened the biggest case and sorted through the evening gowns until he found the green one. "Here you go mother."

"About time," she sniffed, taking it from him irritably.

The doorbell buzzed and Rimmer answered it, pre-empting his mother telling him to, to a stewardess in a navy uniform. 

"Did you call?" she asked.

"Tea, please. Earl Grey, black with lemon," said Mrs Rimmer briskly. On Io, morning tea was drunk with milk, and possibly sugar, according to taste, whilst afternoon tea was black with lemon. It was the way things were done.

"I'll have the same," Mr Rimmer grunted from his armchair.

"And could I have some coffee, please?" Rimmer hastily added. "Not too strong." It turned out to be the only decent cup of coffee he'd had for ages. He drank it quickly and then finished his mother's cases whilst she got changed for dinner.

****

The restaurant was one part of first class that wasn't white, apart from the linen tablecloths, it was full of wood paneling, upholstered leather chairs, replicas of famous paintings and crystal chandeliers. Rimmer pulled his chair up and spread his napkin over his knees.

"Are you ready to order a starter, Sir?" asked the waiter as he poured the wine.

Rimmer's father gave the menu a cursory glance. "We'll have the gazpacho," he grunted.

Rimmer wondered what gazpacho was but, as usual, didn't say anything.

Gazpacho turned out to be a garlicy tomato soup. Rimmer's was cold for some reason, he glanced at his parents but neither of them seemed to be complaining. Apparently it was only his portion that the chef had smegged up. Typical.

He nabbed a passing waiter. "Excuse me," he said politely. "My soup's cold, the chef must have missed it. Could you...,"

His mother gave him a sharp kick under the table. "It's supposed to be cold!" she hissed. "Don't embarrass us." 

His father gave him an irritated look and someone at the next table sniggered.

Well, how the smeg was he supposed to know that? They'd never had this stuff at home, he'd never even heard of it before and his parents knew that perfectly well. He furiously stood up and flung his napkin onto the table, knocking his glass of red wine over the pristine tablecloth, before storming out.  
His parents shouted after him and people were staring, he knew he'd be in trouble for causing a scene but he'd deal with it when the time came. For now, he just wanted to get as far away from them as possible.  
He stalked angrily down the corridor, shouldering people aside and ignoring their indignant complaints, until he unexpectedly reached a dead end, this corridor ended in a bank of lifts and didn't go any further. Rather than face the indignity of turning around and furiously stalking back the other way again, he pressed the button to summon one of them.

"Good evening, Sir," said the lift. "Where can I take you?"

"I don't know," said Rimmer irritably. "Down."

"How far down, Sir?"

"All the way," Rimmer snapped. "As far as you go."

"That would be the engine rooms, Sir. They're out of bounds to the public."

"Fine! As far down as you're _allowed_ to go then!"

"Third class it is then, Sir. Hold tight."


	5. Chapter 5

Having calmed down, Rimmer aimlessly wandered the grey industrial-looking corridors of third class, wondering what the smeg he was supposed to do now. He was already regretting his temper tantrum and not looking forward to the ensuing conversation with his parents.  
He was hungry too. That one spoonful of cold soup was the only thing he had eaten since leaving Io, having slept through lunch on the shuttle and, though it was still barely evening ship time, the reason dinner had been so early was because it was somewhat later in Io time. No wonder he was starving. He realised his watch was still set to Io time and adjusted it to ship time while he considered things.  
Turning the corner, he came across the entrance to a grotty looking drinking establishment of the sort that didn't exist on Io. He thought about it for a second and then ducked inside and made his way to the bar, winding through the tables. It was full of the sound of noisy chatter, chinking glasses, bleeping fruit machines and the smell of beer and cigarettes. Rimmer inhaled the scent, allowing the second-hand smoke to enter his system and relax him a bit. He'd briefly taken up smoking during his time in the Space Corps, finding it soothing, but had to give it up again after he found himself living back with his parents, they didn't approve of smoking. Of course, you could count on one hand the things they did approve of. He considered buying a packet from the vending machine on the wall but decided against it, he'd be in enough trouble when he got back without his parents smelling smoke on his breath. He decided to just order a drink and see if he could get any food.  
This bar didn't seem to sell wine, so after some deliberation he ordered a scotch, which was a bit stronger than anything he normally drank. He nursed it carefully, knowing drinking on an empty stomach was unwise, though the only food the bar turned out to sell was packets of nuts or crisps.

Lister and Petersen were at a corner table, engaged in a round of poker for cigarettes with Chen and Selby, another pair of space bums they'd run into who had a bit more cash and sometimes stood them a pint. Selby was a loud mouthed Londoner and Chen was an equally loudmouthed Irishman who liked to proudly boast that this huge ship was Irish-made, though Lister wasn't sure that he was right about that.  
Lister's eyes drifted round the room as he waited for Selby to call and he spotted a man at the bar who looked rather out of place, expensive looking clothes and fastidiously groomed. Very good looking too, Lister decided, if a bit on the skinny side. He rested his chin on his hand and watched him with interest, tuning out whatever was going on beside him.

"Oi, smeghead!" said Petersen, vigorously waving a hand in front of Lister's eyes to get his attention. "Your turn."

"Oh, sorry, man, drifted off" Lister admitted. "Er..., two, was it?" He added two cigarettes of his own to the pot.

"What ya looking at?" Selby wanted to know. He looked over and spotted the man Lister had been staring at. "Huh! What's a fancy piece of work like 'im doing down 'ere?"

"Dunno," Lister muttered dreamily.

Chen laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Forget it, man. Way outta your league." He added two more cigarettes to the pile.

When everyone had called, the cards were shown and Selby grinned and collected his winnings. "Alright!" he cheered, feeling generous. "Who wants another beer?"

Over at the bar, Rimmer finished his drink and left, hoping to find some food of some description.

Lister gazed after him. "I'm out," he decided. "See you guys later." He grabbed his guitar and followed Rimmer.

"Where you going?" Petersen called after him and then shrugged and turned back to the table. Free beer was on offer.

Rimmer returned to the same grey corridors, keeping an eye out either for a cafe or for a sign pointing to one, unaware he had been followed from the bar and not only by Lister. As he turned into a more isolated area, they jumped him.

"Alright, rich boy, hand over your wallet!"

One of them grabbed his wrist. "And that watch and anything else you've got."

"Look, you can't get away with this," Rimmer squawked. "There's no way for you to get off the ship. I'll go straight to security and have them search the place for you."

"True," the lead thug admitted. "Better not leave any evidence. I say we take whatever's valuable and flush the rest of him out the airlock."

"Leave him alone!" shouted Lister.

The muggers turned to look at him. "Who the smeg's this?"

"I don't know," Rimmer gulped.

Lister held his guitar up like a weapon, wishing he had Petersen, who was a bit more formidable looking, with him.

"You wanna try something?" asked the lead thug. "Come on then."

Lister took a deep breath. "Look, smegheads, this guitar's the most important thing I own and I don't want your blood and brains all over it so if you leave him alone, I'll leave you alone," he snarled in the voice he'd practiced during brawls on Mimas and hoped was scary.

The lead thug considered. His three guys outnumbered one and they had their knives, whilst all this guy seemed to have as a weapon was a guitar but he didn't look like he'd go down without making a lot of noise and there were security guards and cameras on the ship. 

"Fine," he decided. "Come on guys, it's not worth it." He walked away, giving Rimmer a hard shove into the wall on the way to make a point.

Lister looked at him. "You okay, man?"

"Er..., yes," Rimmer swallowed, trying to keep his composure. "Thank you, that was, er..., very good of you."

"You're welcome. Ya know, there's a lot of lowlifes in this part of the ship. No offence but if you can't handle yourself in a scrap, you probably shouldn't walk around here looking like someone who's worth robbing. Not on your own, anyway." 

"So, what should I do, hire a bodyguard to get me back to first class?" Rimmer suggested, trying to lighten the mood. "Do you want the job?"

Lister grinned. "What's someone like you doing down in third class anyway?"

"Hiding from my parents."

"That bad, are they?"

"You could say that." 

"I was watching you at the bar," Lister admitted. "Wondering what you were doing there. I mean, you do kinda stand out down here. Where are you from?"

"Io," Rimmer admitted, embarrassed.

Lister had never been to Io but he knew it by reputation, one of the most exclusive of the off-world colonies and almost the polar opposite of Mimas. He realised he must look like a complete wreckage to this wealthy guy, he'd been able to get his clothes washed regularly since arriving on the ship and they no longer smelled but they were still stained and threadbare. They were also beginning to hang off of him since lack of food had caused him to lose some weight and, lacking a belt, he'd had to hold his trousers up with a length of string he'd found in a wastebasket. 

Rimmer looked at him, taking him in. "No offence but you really don't look too good. When's the last time you had a decent meal?"

"Over a month ago," Lister admitted. "I've got less than two grand and I've gotta make it last until we reach Earth, for me _and_ me mate, so we've been living off sandwiches."

"I see. Will you let me buy you dinner?" The man had saved him from being robbed and possibly murdered, after all, it seemed only polite to offer.

"Okay," Lister agreed. Why not? A free meal was a free meal and it wasn't like he couldn't do with one. "Thank you," he added.

"My name's Arnold, by the way. Arnold Rimmer."

"David Lister. Call me Dave. So where should we go?"

Rimmer considered things, there was no point in taking Dave back to first class, none of the restaurants there would let him in dressed like that but it would make him look cheap if he plumped for a third class restaurant.  
In the end, they went to second class and found a curry place. Dave insisted he loved curry and hadn't been able to get any for ages. He ordered a red hot chicken vindaloo with pilau rice and a large amount of samosas and a beer, Rimmer wasn't a huge curry fan so he stuck to chicken korma with plain rice and a glass of mineral water as well as sharing a plate of popadoms. Dave certainly attacked his food with gusto whilst talking through mouthfuls of food about how he'd got himself stranded on Mimas after a birthday bender and finally managed to escape by winning tickets in a poker game. He licked the sauce off of his fingers afterwards which made Rimmer cringe, he pointedly handed him a lemon scented hot towel wipe.  
Lister saved a couple of samosas in a doggybag as Rimmer paid the bill and stashed them in the inner pocket of his jacket to give to Petersen later. Hopefully it would cheer him up a bit, he was still spending much of his time in a foul mood.

As they left the restaurant, it occurred to Rimmer that his parents would probably be turning in early owing to the Io jetlag so if he stayed out for a few more hours, he could probably return to the cabin after they were asleep and continue to avoid them until the morning. "Do you want to go somewhere else?" he offered. "And do..., something else?"

"Okay. Like what?"

"Well, you tell me. What is there to do on this ship? You've been here longer."

"Well, I can show you the recreation decks," Lister offered. The recreation decks were open to everybody in all classes and he'd been enjoying himself there as best he could all trip.

The state-of-the-art AR suite charged per session, so that was out, and the amusement arcade was off-limits too as Lister had no money to waste on slot machines, but there were plenty of other entertainments that came free with the trip. Snooker halls, bowling alleys, swimming pools and jacuzzis, cinemas that showed everything from new releases to centuries-old classics, and the botanical gardens. Lister had also discovered an observation dome, it had only one entrance which was a bit tucked away and wasn't really advertised so it was frequently empty. Lister had found it to be a good place to sit with his guitar and compose quietly after he had been thrown out of the gardens by a security guard for disturbing the peace.

"This is..., bright," Rimmer remarked as they exited the lift. Io tended not to have much in the way of neon signs.

"Fancy a game of snooker?" Lister offered. "Or bowling?"

"Er..., I've never really done either of those. Might not be very good at them."

Lister paused to think, tennis or squash might be more up this guy's street but then _he'd_ never played either of those. What was something both of them might comfortable with? A film? You couldn't really talk in the cinema. Besides, although they'd had a _Casablanca_ fest last week, showing every version ever made, right back to the original twentieth century one with Humphrey Bogart, this week seemed to be specialising in horror films, and he wasn't sure anything from the _Mutant Splat-Gore Monster_ series or _Surfboarding Killer Bikini Vampire Girls_ series would be appropriate.

"How about indoor golf?"

"Alright," Rimmer agreed. "I have played golf on Io."

"Come on then," Lister smiled, pulling him in the direction of the mini-golf course.

Lister wasn't especially good at golf, mini or otherwise, but he found it entertaining enough and it was a calm enough activity that he had plenty of chance to talk to Rimmer. Rimmer didn't seem to want to talk about himself much though, he told Lister that he was currently unemployed, lived with his parents and had three brothers and that the purpose of the trip was to attend the wedding of one of them but otherwise seemed more interested in hearing about what Lister had been doing on the ship and on Mimas.  
Rimmer won the golf game by a margin, which seemed to put him in a good mood and offered to buy Lister a coffee afterwards. Lister ordered a double-caffeinated Americano and added six sugars to Rimmer's astonishment, he hadn't even known coffee came in double-caffeinated. Rimmer stuck with a extra-milky latte.

"Oh, hey! There's Petersen!" Lister pointed out as they wandered past the snooker tables.

"There you are, I've been looking for you," Petersen grumbled. "You've got the smegging keys. Where have you been?"

"Second class. Arnie here bought me dinner, we found a curry restaurant," Lister admitted in embarrassment, as he handed the keycard over. He'd insisted on carrying both keycards himself as he couldn't trust Petersen not to lose them and had completely forgotten that meant that Petersen couldn't get into the bunkroom without him. "I saved you some samosas," he added, in the hope of making up for it, and fished the squashed and greasy paper bag out of his jacket. "Though I think they've gone cold."

"Oh thanks," said Petersen. He tore the bag open eagerly and wandered away eating happily.

"So..., erm, I dread to ask but who's that?" asked Rimmer.

"My roommate, Olaf Petersen, he's another bum I picked up on Mimas, found him lying drunk under a table. He's useful to have alongside you if you get in a scrap, you know. He's from Denmark originally but I don't think he speaks Danish anymore, I think he forgot it when he learned English. He's not smart enough to keep two languages in his head at once, comes from too much drinking."

As they drank their coffee, the large novelty clock shaped like the ship that formed the centrepiece of the snack area started playing a tune to mark the hour.

"Smeg," Rimmer muttered. "It's getting late. I should probably get back."

"Come on, it's not that late," Lister protested.

"I'm still on Io time and it's past midnight there."

"Oh, right," Lister sighed. He didn't want to say goodbye just yet, he liked this guy. Liked him a lot. Still, there was still four months to Earth, they'd have plenty of time to see a lot more of each other, assuming Rimmer wanted to as well. They finished their coffees and he reluctantly escorted Rimmer back to the lift bank. 

A lift descended and the doors slid open. "Where to, Sirs?"

"First class," Rimmer replied.

Lister grinned. "Back to your own world, eh?"

"It's not my world, not really. It's my parents' world," Rimmer blurted out without thinking, then quickly clamped his mouth shut again, appalled at himself. Why did he say that? He'd never admitted that before, not even to himself.

Lister didn't seem bothered though. He looked interested. "So what is your world?"

"I don't know. I've never found it," Rimmer admitted.

"Are you coming aboard or not?" asked the lift. "I've got other passengers I could be picking up, you know."

"In a second," said Rimmer impatiently. "Can I see you again?"

"Yes!" Lister grinned and then worried that had come out too enthusiastic, he didn't want to scare the guy off. "I mean, sure. I'd like that," he added in a more nonchalant tone. "I'm usually around here somewhere. Come down here anytime and look for me."

Rimmer smiled back and stepped into the lift, "Well, goodn...," the irritated lift slammed its doors shut on him, cutting him off, and began ascending.

Lister made a triumphant gesture to himself and made his way back to the third class bunkrooms, a spring in his step that had nothing to do with the coffee.


End file.
